


The Night of the Boot

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Being Offended That Someone Thinks You're Cheating at Cards, Cheating at Cards, F/M, Low Stakes Chase Scene, Marian Hawke's Best Friend is a Varterral, honeysuckle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 21:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20823809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: Varric needs somewhere to lie low and Marian isn't home.





	The Night of the Boot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyNorbert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/gifts).

Sometimes, a guy's just gotta ditch Marian 'Hustle and Bustle' Hawke the minute they get out of Darktown and hide away for a day or so. Recuperation, you see. She's just such a whirlwind of a person and he's only got so much in him. A day or two nestled away in his room at The Hanged Man will let him rest, stretch out his exhausted muscles, and just relax. Then Marian can drag him to whatever ruin, back alley, or stare-down of the Arishok she's got planned next.

Except when he lets himself into his room, he finds a stack of correspondence from the Merchant's Guild, plus a few from his editor, no doubt containing pointed reminders about deadlines and the consequences of evading such things. Less relaxing, more nerve-wracking. So much for home sweet home.

He wants, oh how he wants, to just fling the entire ream of paper into the fireplace and be done with it, but his upstanding and responsible nature just won't allow it. He chuckles to himself.

_Varric Tethras, 'upstanding and responsible.'_ Only in Kirkwall. Anywhere else, and he knows just what he'd be called.

Shoving all the letters into a haphazard stack, he sets the first heavy thing at hand down on top. It's the hatchet he uses as last ditch protection when thugs or deepstalkers get in a little too close. It's still got a little ooze on it and everything. He may be responsible and upstanding, but he's also damn tired and not in the mood.

He stands in the middle of his room and debates between a bath, a beer, or a brief coma, but before he can decide, there's a roar of raucous, unnecessary laughter from the bar.

When he goes down to investigate, it's drunk sailors. And why wouldn't it be? They're just abnormally loud… and yeah, abnormally drunk. They're gathered around one table in particular, and Varric spies a deck of cards and a stack of coins.

Oh, well, that's _definitely_ going to help him relax.

"Hello, gentlemen, I'm Varric. Deal me in," he says, helping himself to the mug in one man's hand while he stares in alcohol-fueled stupor. Before anyone can object, he drops his coin purse on the table. It hits the wood with a very satisfying thunk-clink. The sailors don't complain, and they hand him the cards to deal the next hand.

* * *

The sailors complain vehemently when they start losing their money, beer, and various and sundry family heirlooms.

He knows he's charming, obviously, but he's only so charming and drunk, rowdy sailors can get mean fast. He excuses himself after purposely flubbing a hand or two to settle the gentlemen down.

It doesn't work. Three sailors follow him out of the Hanged Man into the street. Bianca's safely in his room. Safe for her, less safe for him here and now. He reaches for his belt instinctively, but no, his hatchet is a gory paperweight. There's only one thing left for Varric to do.

He bolts.

Ducking around a few corners, he hopes the darkness, the suddenness of the getaway, and the sailors' inebriated state will mean he's already lost them, but the swearing and loud footfalls tell him he's not that lucky tonight.

Turning the next corner, his luck turns with him. There's a single light on nearby, illuminating a familiar door. He knocks as loud as he can while still trying to be quiet.

"Hawke, can you --"

"Varric? It's the middle of the night."

Because he's expecting Marian, and because Marian is Marian and Varric is Varric, he automatically scoffs. "It's barely past midnight. It's _late-_late evening at best."

Bethany cocks her head and stares at him. "Marian's not here, she went to Sundermount with Merrill and Fenris."

"Wow, I'm so upset to be missing _that_." Again, automatic. You can't take the sarcasm out of the dwarf any easier than you could take the dwarf out of --

There's a shout of 'there he is!' from over his shoulder then something breezes by his thigh and lands with a solid thud against the door Bethany still has propped halfway open. He pushes into the house, pulling her along before he slams the door and leans on it.

"What did you do, Varric?" Bethany asks, extracting herself and pinning him with the exact look he's seen her give Marian a hundred times (oh, ouch, that's not great for his self-image).

"Won too many times at Wicked Grace."

"Cheating?"

"Bethany, please, of course not!"

Her 'you're leaving something off to make yourself look better and I'm not falling for it' stare never wavers.

"They were all way too drunk," he adds, buckling under her gaze.

Bethany chuckles. "Should have known. Well, come in until this all blows over, I suppose. Mother's asleep, Marian is gone, like I said, and Gamlen, well… Surprised you didn't see him at the pub, honestly. He left here hours ago."

"I was a little distracted. Maybe he was there? Maybe he's the one chasing me throwing…" He stoops to investigate the weapon. It's a filthy boot.

"Horrendous," Bethany remarks, and she is not wrong.

There's muffled noises from beyond the door for another twenty minutes or so until the idiots give up and head back to the tavern, but by then, Bethany's put on water for tea and pulled out some scones and jam.

"You're a much better hostess than your sister."

"I'm much better at a lot of things," Bethany says breezily, her back turned to him while she retrieves a pair of dingy cups from a cupboard.

He's not sure what to say to that, exactly, but then Bethany returns to the fireside and he catches the glint in her eye. The firelight makes the copper tones in her hair light up and gives her a rosy glow.

"You're too kind," he tells her as he forces his eyes into his teacup.

"You're too flexible with your definition of kind," she counters."Would a kind woman demand that you teach her everything you know about cheating at cards?"

"Again, Bethany, you wound me. Do I look like the kind of guy who --"

"Yes. Teach me."

"Your sister knows more tricks that me anyway."

Bethany fixes him with a smirk. "Marian thinks I'm too kind and keeps refusing. But I don't have leverage on her to make her teach me."

"You've got leverage on me though?"

"Oh, no, I suppose not. Now where did I put that spare boot…"

It startles a laugh from him. "Yeah, okay, point. I'll teach you everything I know, just do _not_ tell your sister I showed you this. Or Leandra!"

Bethany beams and produces a deck of cards from some fold of her nightdress or another. Did he want to know why she carries cards in her nightdress? Not on your life. His life. Anyone's life. "Don't worry. You could push Marian down a flight of stairs and Mother would still love you."

"Mothers love me. And I'll keep that in mind for next time she drags me to the coast." Draining the last of his tea, he sets both of the dainty cups aside. Cards, it would seem, might be a rough past time tonight. But he''s willing to try again if she is. He cracks his knuckles and tucks a stray lock of hair back behind his ear.

"Now show me how you shuffle the deck; we can start there."

* * *

It only takes an hour or two, and Bethany can stack the deck and deal off the bottom better than Marian. Counting cards, that's a bit of longer trick to master, but she's come a long way in such a short amount of time. He's strangely proud of her, and more than a little proud at his own teaching.

"Coast is probably clear by now, I should let you get some sleep," he says, dusting his hands on his trousers and making to stand.

"You don't have to go," Bethany says. His mind registers the tone before the words.

"Ah, I _really_ should, I have a feeling that I'm going to need to find Aveline and hike up Sundermount to save an angry elf, a happy elf, and your sister before too long."

"Is it too late to trade her for one of the elves?" Bethany asks. She stands with him and follows him to the door.

"I like the happy one, even with all the blood magic shit. You get angry and broody."

Bethany chuckles. It's nearly impossible not to wonder to himself what's shining more in the low light, her eyes? Or her hair and the gentle way it curls past her shoulders?

"Maybe I'll wait and see who the next stray Marian picks up is. Not that Fenris isn't…" she trails off.

"No, he really isn't. It's okay though, I think he knows. At least, Anders tells him enough. But people in Darktown are talking about a varterral up in the mountains, so… keep that in mind if you wait too long."

"Marian would never." There's a pause between them. "Marian probably would never," Bethany concedes to the silence.

They both laugh and their eyes meet for a brief second. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Bethany's hair behind her ear for her, the same way he'd do his own. It's automatic, a stupid compulsion, an irresistable urge. She makes a noise, just a little breathy 'oh,' when his fingertips brush her cheek.

He throws himself out the door with the same enthusiasm he had trying to get in earlier.

It was late, he was exhausted, he'd had a few drinks, the fire in that little house was way too strong... a million reasons and excuses spring to mind to explain away the heat in his face, his chest, his hands.

"Varric, wait!"

He shouldn't wait, he shouldn't stop.This is Marian's sister. Her younger, very sweet, very fiercely protected younger sister. Marian, his best friend, and Bethany, her younger, very sweet, very lovely now that he's thinking about it and did she smell like honeysuckle, or was he imagining it the whole time? He shouldn't wait and definitely shouldn’t stop, but coming to that conclusion took too long and his legs quit moving three thoughts ago.

"Varric!" Her hand claps down on his shoulder. Varric turns to face her, still thinking to himself that he should not have stopped and should, in fact, throw himself into the ocean before he makes another pass at his friend, who happens to be his best friend's little sister. Who smells like honeysuckle for real, he did not imagine it. Fantastic. Amazing. That's just great information to take with him to his watery grave.

"You forgot your…"

"Dirty old boot? You ran down here in your nightgown to give me a drunk sailor's crusty boot?" Secretly, he is thrilled about the boot. This boot, in all it's disgusting glory, gives his brain something to fixate on besides the paradigm-shifting realization that he wants Bethany Hawke more than he's wanted anything since six hours ago when he really wanted a bath. Oh Maker. Oh fucking shitting nughumping Maker. Did he really just think 'Bethany' and 'bath' in the same thought?

"Well, I don't know," Bethany said, bursting through his thoughts with a grimace on her face. "Sorry I'm not as good at flirting as you are."

"Well, if this is you flirting, you're... yeah, you're not great at it."

"It is."

"Is what?"

"Flirting."

"Yeah, but… Really?"

"Sorry." Bethany groans and rubs her face in her hands. "Can I start again?"

"No," he says, finally taking the horrible boot from her. It's taking a bit longer than he'd like for his mind to get the pieces together, but again, he'll blame the late hour, the strenuous days chasing Marian across Kirkwall, the drinks, and the way the smell of honeysuckle is wrapping tendrils around his brain. "Don't start again, this is fine."

"Fine?"

"Just _fine_," he assures her.

And then he kisses her, because what else is there to do?

For a final time, there's a sound of a muddy old boot hitting the flagstones in Lowtown.

**Author's Note:**

> With apologies to upstanding sailors, all the fine boot manufacturers from here to Thedas, The Maker (who does **not**hump nugs) and all your lovely people who know how playing cards is supposed to work.
> 
> With thanks to Toshi_Nama for tightening up my POV and not smacking me when I decided to go with this title.
> 
> And with thanks to LadyNorbert. You are excellent.


End file.
